


Lullaby

by hotaryu



Category: Heneral Luna (2015) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:57:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9114034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotaryu/pseuds/hotaryu
Summary: He asks her to sing a song.





	

“Umawit ka para sa akin.”

 

The command is song, and she does not flinch. She is a girl without a heart after all. His head lays in her lap. There is a light tap as the bloodied rag is set down.

 

“Bakit naman?”

 

She challenges him. Girls are meant to obey, after all. She’d heard what the women in Bulacan were like, from soldiers passing to and fro. Those women from Malolos, all well-bred. And **_proper_**. She hates the word, with the fire of hell. She detests it the same way she itched to fight with a bolo in her hand. Some angel of mercy she was, in Cruz Roja, with her dark eyes and pale skin, walking around tending to soldiers who longed for their wives, children, lovers and mothers.

 

“Isang kanta lang,” he begs, this ill soldier in her lap. To her, he is another invalid but what she hears betrays him. A fellow from Baler, like her. “Nangungungila ako sa Baler.”

 

“Aba, aber,” she says, proud, “di ko yan kayang ipagkait.” She pats his hot forehead. This mercy is personal, this mercy does not beget him.

 

“Kahit isang kanta.”

“At bakit mo naman gusto ng kanta?” She raises a brow, a schoolgirl.

He grabs her wrist. A man haunted.

 

* * *

 

Another hellish night, plagued by screams of the invalid. This profession is toxic, Sandra knows. She wipes the sweat off her forehead, her feet ache. But her heart aches, too. Inang Bayan – she’d heard the stories.

 

If they thought she was an angel, they were wrong. She’d heard the whispers of her. Beautiful. Dark eyes, full lips. She was far from that. Her lips are chapped, her feet blistered. Her hands shaking. Sweat pools on her forehead. Plagued by the mistery of war.

 

She sits beside her invalid.

 

“Ayos ka lang?” he asks. He sounds a bit better. A kitten lies at his feet.

 

Sandra nods.

 

“Nanginginig ka. Hindi ka ayos,” he murmurs.

 

Sandra shrugs. Is there a point anymore? Was it even Aguinaldo’s fault? Or the Americans’ fault?

 

“Umawit ka para sa akin.”

 

She opens her mouth and sings. A song of longing, a song she picked up from Beata.

 

_Sarung banggi sa higdaan_  
_Nakadangog ako hinuni nin sarung gamgam_  
_Sa luba ko katorogan_  
_Bako kundi simong boses iyo palan_

_Dagos ako bangon si sakuyang mata binuklat,_  
_Kadtong kadikloman ako nangalagkalag_  
_Si sakong pagheling pasiring sa itaas_  
_Naheling ko simong lawog maliwanag_

 

* * *

 

She looks at him.

 

“Ang ganda ng boses mo,” he tells her. The cicadas are chirping. She can feel it - the cold December air, the tossing and turning of sleeping soldiers. The moon shines bright, above, unclouded and unbent. 

For the first time, she feels better. 


End file.
